Wilson Aaron Kunze is two days and two hours old. He is my newest grandson. As did all my other grandbabies, he calls me into relationship by his existence. I am his Baba.
You've no doubt heard the standard grandparent disclaimer: "It's not the same as having children -- you can send grandkids home at the end of the day." I think this is a joke masking what is sometimes an uncomfortable inner reality: It's not the same at all. Grandkids project something different on grandparents than they do on parents -- and grandparents do the same with grandchildren. It seems archetypal. I am not only called into relationship, I am summoned to wisdom, understanding, and unconditional love. Something happens between me and these people who call me Baba. Something kicks in between us.
I don't know if Wilson is lucky or unlucky to have me as his Baba. I am not usually stellar at meeting the summons. I have my moments, thank God. But I also have my crotchety old lady moments, my "leave me alone or I will eat you" moments. I console myself with the idea that this aspect of grandparenting, too, has its archetypal aspect.
Wilson is too young to receive much more than the rudimentary aspects of my ocean of love for him. I can hold him in my arms and hum at him (I tell Rosean I never coo). I can wait for those magic moments when he opens his eyes for just an instant and gives me his newborn infant scowl. That's about it really. Oh, and I can give him a grandmotherly welcome.
Welcome into the world, Wilson Aaron Kunze. May your heart grow big and your arms grow wide. I am your Baba, and I love you.
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4 comments:
I had a Baba. That's what we called my grandfather. When I search back into my childhood for love, he's the face I see. And I see him looking at me in wonder and mysterious affection must have been a challenge to the old stubborn Swede. He called me Wicki.
My maternal grandmother was a "proper" women of her time: etiquette-perfect, dressed to perfection, and never a word out of place, just like the hair on her head. She taught me much--the best thing was her unconditional love, even though she was very uptight. I shocked and challenged her more than once, but she never stopped loving me. She taught me all about love- and I am grateful.
Thank you Grandmother!
Nice stories, you two!
I don't remember my grandparents much, but I think of them all with a sort of whitewashing that makes my parents (their children) nuts. And our children sometimes cause Rosean and I to roll our eyes when they talk about their grandparents. But I'll be happy for the whitewash with my grandkids.
Called into relationship by a brand new person, how cool is that? Telling Wilson Aaron Kunze that his Baba loves him will be enough to carry him through the discovery of little ants that crawl up his arms, shiny trucks that don't roll in the sandbox, and the inevitable skinned knees from falling off the tricycle. It will be loverly.
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